Sing Me a Song, Ada
by Peppery Mints
Summary: One-shot. Prince Legolas is born and Thranduil discovers he must be a father to his boys.


**Sing Us a Song, Ada**

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I am not a patient Elf.

There are many who would call me prideful and stubborn. I prefer to think of myself as distinguished and tenacious. I admit to not possessing a patient bone in my body, and my temper occasionally get the better of me. But my temper only rears in understandable circumstances.

Waiting for my pregnant wife to give birth was a very understandable circumstance, in my opinion.

Her pregnancy had been...complicated, to say the least. I was naturally extremely happy to be gifted with another child, and my oldest son, Máfortion, was understandably curious about the whole procedure. But strange pains had afflicted my wife and she had been given dozens of different teas to help with the kicking. The kicking, the midwives assured us, was a sign that the baby was healthy and happy. My poor wife was not convinced. The combined stress of the pregnancy and my dealings with the King of Gondor had a terrible effect on my wife. Before a few months had passed, she fell deeply ill and we all worried that we would lose the baby.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, as my wife had been in labor for over a day—she did not lose the baby. But she lost weight and her fevers grew more intense, and that laughing sparkle in her eyes that I had fallen in love with died away completely. She confided in me once that she feared the baby would be sickly. This haunted me; I did not want a sick wife, nor a sick child.

But she dragged herself through the pain and the sickness. A wife of Thranduil would do no less, and I was unspeakably proud of her.

Now, pacing the worn flagstones and hearing the strange noises of the storm outside, I waited. I heard my wife's sobbing and terrible screams, and I knew something was wrong. I had gone through the same impatience during the birth of Máfortion, but her screams had been more keen and she had not cried. Now, I heard her feverish thrashing and heard her nightmarish shrieks of agony. My wife—my_ wife!_—was in pain and there was nothing I could do to help.

I wanted to put my fist through a wall. Instead, I chewed my lip and paced relentlessly.

Soon, the noise of the storm grew more intense and my wife's agonizing sounds died down. Was she dying? Had she died? Had my child perished as well? I raged for answers, and when the door opened I crossed the room with two long strides.

It was my friend and my captain, Thalion. There were tears in his eyes, and instantly I knew.

"Let me by!" I snapped at him, but he seized my upper arms in a surprising grip and pushed me back.

"No, my lord, _please_," he begged. "Stay here. I would not have you enter and suffer the heartbreak!"

"I _must _see my child!" I insisted.

"That child caused the death of your wife!" Thalion shouted at me, and I felt something deep within me tear. It was as though someone stabbed me in the ribs.

"That child is all I have left, then!" I roared at him, and thrust him aside. I should have cared that he fell hard, but at the moment my heart was as hard as the floors he struck. I heard his panicked cry of, "Wait, my lord!" before I slammed the door shut behind me.

I smelled the thick, cloying scent of blood.

The three ellith who had assisted my wife in her birth were kneeling next to her, crying silently; one of them held my eldest son, who's sobs were muffled in her robes. Another one held a bundle of clean white rags, but the third...the third looked up, and her eyes were full of so much anguish I knew that my queen had died.

"Thranduil?"

Weak, raspy. Dying.

My wife's beautiful golden hair was in sweaty, frizzy tangles. Her face was so pale and chalky, I knew she had lost too much blood. Her lips were as white as snow, but I could see she had bitten through the skin in her efforts. "You have a son," she said, so faintly I almost couldn't hear her. I dropped to my knees so quickly it hurt, but I didn't care; I took her hand and smoothed her hair away from her perfect face.

"Please, my love," I breathed. "Do not leave me."

"I must," she said, and her cornflower blue eyes were distant. "You must name him, I cannot think right now."

"Naneth, don't go!" Máfortion bawled.

"Oh, my son," she whispered. She closed her eyes and I gripped her hand so tightly it ached. "Sing us a song, Ada."

_Ada_. Father.

I knelt and I bowed my head, and took the small baby boy from the arms of the midwife. He was crying and struggling, but I could see his mother's soft, beautiful features on his face. I gathered my oldest son close to me and the three of us held onto each other.

Is it unbecoming of a king to weep? I shed tears that night. I wept for the loss of my wife, my closest companion and eternal friend. But I also wept for the loss of my title; I was no longer a king. I could not ever put my throne ahead of what I had here in my arms, it was too precious.

He needed a name.

The three of us became a family as my wife slipped into an eternal rest. Myself, and my two sons: Máfortion and Legolas.

I named him as I sang, and I sang to my wife as she died. I stayed there, singing to myself and my boys, as I felt the weight of my family press against my chest. I cradled the innocent baby boy, Legolas, who had finally quieted.

And as my wife and my queen passed, the only sound in my house was the sound of my singing.

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**Felt like writing some Elvish fluff today. This is exactly 1k words, a bit of a drabble, and poorly written to boot. Just felt like writing it. An opinion would be nice, would love to hear some feedback.**


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